


The Storm is Coming In

by Anarchyinplasma



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyinplasma/pseuds/Anarchyinplasma
Summary: What exactly does it mean to be an Arcstrider?





	The Storm is Coming In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheShadowsmiths](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShadowsmiths/gifts).



> Do enjoy. :D

The hunter stands in the middle of a grove. She’s soaked to the bone, her feet ache with stress, her hands maneuver thin air with delicacy despite their emptiness. There’s a storm looming on the horizon. Her ghost has been quietly reminding her for the past three hours. She needs to get inside.

She takes a deep breath and runs through her katas again.

A spin, duck, slam, revert, dancing to the thunder on the edge of her hearing.

A deep, sonorous crash reverberates through the area, and she knows what that means.

The storm is coming in.

The rain gets heavier, storming down in shimmering glassy sheets, sluicing off the vegetation in glossy streams. The rippling cannonade of thunder echoes in the middle distance, lightning spears the ground, again and again, a million quick strikes a second. Thunder rumbles closer, a constant cascade of growls and crashes permeating the air. The lightning gets closer still, and she runs the katas again.

The noise is on top of her now; the sky voicing its discontent. Ghost, precious little snowflake she is, hangs under the shade of a nearby leaf, thankful for the massive flora native to Venus. The hunter finishes her kata and goes back to start. Chin up, shoulders back, standing straight. Hands vertical in front of her, holding an invisible staff. She can feel the electricity in the air, can taste the power on the tip of her tongue.

With a crash, the lightning finds its mark. Her.

For the first time since her blade went away, she knows the power again. It very nearly gets to her, but she holds on, refuses to relinquish her grip. Runs the katas with the staff in her hands. This is the central tenet of being an Arc Strider. The storm cannot be controlled. But it can be channeled, focussed.

Embrace the chaos.

The unused Vex gate to her right hums into life, and ghost hides herself. The staff renews itself with another spear of lightning from on high. Time to get to work.

Brass machines stride from the gate into the driving rain. The water cascades off their glossy hulls as they all zero onto the hunter in the clearing. She allows herself a serene smile, takes a breath through her nose, and starts the engagement.

Solid lightning coalesces further in her hand, a roiling staff of rippling cyan light, tipped with blades made of screaming electricity and barely controlled power. She hits the first Goblin at a sprint, and the blade shears through the midsection, tearing the metal messily in two with the force of the strike.

She spins, feels the staff self-balance as it slides in her palm, lengthening her reach immensely; and brings the polearm down over her head in a solid backhanded movement braced by her forearm, bisecting a Hobgoblin from shoulder to hip, before spinning the staff around her waist for that extra flourish and to add power to the swing that laterally cleaves another Goblin right in half. A Minotaur looms out of the gate in front of her. Gleaming crimson eye locked onto her form. But that doesn't diminish the feral grin growing on her face in the slightest.

The hunter brings her weapon up, taking the left arm off cleanly at the shoulder, leaving nothing but a stump and wires sparking in the aftermath of a severe overload as the massive cannon crashes on to the wet grass. The right arm comes down to crush her, but she's already gone, maneuvering around the huge construct with fleet but assured footing. Her weapon goes in at the small of its back, shearing metal and wires carelessly on its way in as she rams the staff through the metal as if it isn’t even there. Listening to the fluid inside boil on contact with the burning weapon in her grasp.

She stills as the construct falls off her blade; and the excess energy ripples around her form as she lets it roll off her in waves. She runs through her katas again, the staff growing dimmer each time. Until at last she’s simply wading through empty air again.

The rain eases up, she takes a deep breath of the petrichor, and remembers the mantra of her teacher.

“You are the rain transformed. Flow like lightning, strike like thunder.”


End file.
